


Least of All, You

by YaminoTenshi202



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Come Marking, Dark, Exhibitionism, Fantasizing, I don't really think it's dark but okay, Internal Monologue, M/M, POV First Person, Public Masturbation, Voyeurism, Yandere, Yandere is often what I'm best at, ambiguous genitalia, mentions of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoTenshi202/pseuds/YaminoTenshi202
Summary: Isn't it funny, how a bird catches an insect and, as it preens itself with pride and accomplishment, doesn't notice the jaguar coming up behind it?You are more lovely than me, even now and back then, but by what degree or by what confession I'd make, I wouldn't be able to tell anyone - least of all, you.





	Least of All, You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_after_dark (Cricket_In_Form_Of_Cricket)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cricket_In_Form_Of_Cricket/gifts).

> I won't lie. I'm a pretentious person.

Another day, another contest. I wonder if you know that this was all to have an excuse to look at you for an inordinate amount of time. I doubt you'd only want to know my reasons. It's all to answer questions.

You were younger than me when we met, but if you asked me by how long, I wouldn't be able to tell you. You were more clever than me when we first met, but by what experiences, I wouldn't be able to tell you. You are more lovely than me, even now and back then, but by what degree or by what confession I'd make, I wouldn't be able to tell anyone - least of all, you. If anything, I'd deny everything and watch you boil and fume over me, the fact that I disregard every beautiful inch of you

You try to play a predator, even under my gaze. We sit in an idea of our own devising, stuck and separated by something that we settled on together. I should have never agreed. Why would I want to be separate from what's mine? You act as though this territory doesn't have any of my claim on it beyond that line that you had placed between us. Isn't it funny, how a bird catches an insect and, as it preens itself with pride and accomplishment, doesn't notice the jaguar coming up behind it?

I've been wanting you to writhe underneath me, dear. Every movement that you make has caught my imagination. How could I make it lose control, make you lose control, and make you bend in ways that you didn't know you were capable of? I would take you apart, make you forget everything. You'd never forget the taste or feel of me inside of you. I'd make sure you wouldn't.

You talk like you can actually stand against me. It's a simple staring contest, but you and I both know that there's something burning here between us. It's actually pitiful how oblivious you are to how much I want to watch you break. Perhaps I can do so.

I reach down, moving my coat so that I can reach my sex much more easily. I maintain eye contact with you as I lower my hand, stroking at my thigh before reaching a sensitive part of my flesh. I quickly build a rhythm. It's never been too quick, when I've reached a peak of pleasure, and I would love to see how fast I can make you scream. You make a choking noise - I would like to do that to you as well - but I lean forward. It moves you to action.

Your forehead is so wonderful against mine. You are telling me to stay over on my side, but your cheeks are burning lights. Those beautiful beacons - I want to bite into them, make that shade of red a dark purple-black - and everyone would know that you belong to someone. You would be owned by me and no-one would know the wiser.

I wonder what they'd say. Would they think that you had been hit by someone? Would they think your new partner is a possessive hen, bitch, or sow that needed to lay claim to someone with so much more power than her? I wonder if you'd blush or cry. My dear one, my sweet - you know that I'm stronger than you, than anyone else in the world. They'd wonder who could subdue you, but they'd never think me.

I start stroking myself faster, the action much for obvious. You don't move.

You haven't taken a single glance away, Flintheart, and I adore you for that. You grit your teeth, and you don't know what to say. You just make confused noises and questions. Even as I hold my own noises back, hold back those pants for air that I desperately need as the room grows hotter far too quickly, you make enough noise for the both of us. They really are delicious sounds.

My forehead is a bit sore where you are pressing your head against mine, but you stumble just a bit when you try to press again. Your hands are on my thighs for stabilisation, and your forehead slips from mine. You fall on my shoulder.

Your scuttling is so cute, but you can't pull away from where I grab you. No, you are stuck against me, your head on my chest. You push at my chest, but it's hardly an attempt that I couldn't fight. You are tight against me. You stop... You whine about our game! I hold back a laugh. No, I won't tease you about that yet, not while I have you trapped in my arms.

You breathe on my neck. You're burying your face in my neck, nuzzling at my feathers and down. You are biting at my flesh and feathers. You are eager in your own way. If I had looked down - and I regret this when I am seeing it later - I would see you reaching down. I would see you starting to touch and tease yourself. You make a whimper, a shy noise as you continue to bite, a plea to mark me. 

I press my beak to you, to the side of your face. Your cheeks are hot, your feathers the same. Your scent is rich, deep. Is this how your blood smells? I lick at the feathers on your cheeks. Salt stains the natural taste of you. Under my teeth, your feathers are fragile. The taste of salt becomes tenuous under my mouth, so much of it on my tongue and settling into the heat of my belly. You are wet under me.

You let out a cry that breaks into a deep-seated moan. You are trying to scold me, but I'm too satisfied. Your cheek is soft, surrendering under my harsh bite. Your feathers in my mouth are becoming jagged. They are losing their smoothness as I break the hollow bones of them. You are shuddering in my hold. I stroke myself faster, the wetness of me making the glide so much easier. You reach up for my hand, saying my name.

I pull away, seeing your eyes water. From pain or pleasure, the heat in my belly only gets worse. You take my hand and place it between your legs.

Are you sure you want that? Are you sure that you want my fingers, rough from a century of hard work, stroking the most sensitive flesh that your heavier feathers protect? Do you want the wetness that you're spilling to be taken up to your mouth, making you choke as you hold on to me and I moan, teasing myself with my free hand?

You are crying now, diamond tears slipping over your cheeks. One cheek is pure white and the other, I have bloodied. Some blood comes on your beak. I lick at it, loving the taste of the deepest part of you.

You come to kiss me, tasting of your sex and blood. My body is a fire, and my fingers are soon pushing your way inside of you. You cry out, crying out my name and pleading. For mercy or indulgence, you are crying. I watch as you spill, soaking my hand with the fluid that I've already gotten to taste. Your body softens, losing tone in the wake of your orgasm. You shudder. You're like a new-born bird, twitching and making little noises that make me almost want to stop teasing you into over-sensitivity... almost.

I move us both so that I can position myself closer to you. I want to mark your hole. My fingers have relaxed it so, it's almost gaping, hungry for whatever I choose to offer. You're clenching as much as you can. Perhaps I was a bit rough with you, but you keep moaning and you finally ask for me to start thrusting my fingers into you. I laugh, and I thrust so far that my palm is slamming against the beautiful curve of your ass.

Your tears taste so salty-sweet as I clean them from your face. Your ass and my fingers are making a horribly wet noise that makes me growl out my moans. Your kisses are open-mouthed, lazy as you always seem, but your desire... It's so focused, focused on me. After the shortest eternity, you reach the precipice of pleasure and you cry out your orgasm. I pull my fingers away, collecting whatever I spill as my vision goes blank and I whisper your name to whatever Devil will listen.

As we pant, I move to your hole again. I can see inside of you, if only just. My filthy fingers press into the now puffy opening of your sex. Oh, Lord... You're whimpering, but I cannot stop myself from pushing my spend into you, Flintheart. Your hole almost keeps my fingers in, but I try and make sure that almost everything on my palms are going into your heated body.

When I'm done, I bring my hand to your beak. You stare up at me. I wonder if you're going to fight me, just for a second, but you start licking up what is left of the mess between us. You're so pliant and sweet, my darling. I wonder if I broke you. Perhaps I can put your pieces together, in the way that would make us work together for always. You're grabbing for me, and I comply, cradling you as you whimper and let out your tears. You have bruises on your cheek and inside of you. You make a lovely picture. No-one else would ever see you like this.

They would have to deal with me if they ever dared to think it.

I won't every say these things out loud. I wouldn't dare make one think that I worry of these sorts of things. Nothing carnal, nothing immoral - I just love you, dear, and my kiss on your beak should make you sure of that. I wouldn't say anything of these to anybody - least of all, you.

**Author's Note:**

> I can write a whole paper about this characterization that I use. I love these ducks.


End file.
